


don't hit the balcony on your way out

by charldalton



Category: DCU
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 06:51:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15261810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charldalton/pseuds/charldalton
Summary: Even if Dick is not there to catch him when he falls, he's there to make it better.





	don't hit the balcony on your way out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Midotaka16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midotaka16/gifts).



Only someone as lucky as Slade Wilson could have made a shot like that. Who else, with one eye and a dislocated shoulder (courtesy of the Red Hood himself) would have been able to shoot down his grapple from at least a hundred yards away if not more? Sure, Slade had undergone the misfortune of losing a wife, a child or two, and an eye: but he was still the luckiest bastard Jason had ever met. 

He thought this to himself as he dragged himself into the alleyway, his entire ribcage on fire. It felt to him as though the inside of his torso ought to look like a bunch of splintered branches right around now. But he knew it wasn't that serious – when he had fallen and smacked the metal balcony on his way down, it had hurt like hell, but he'd been lucky enough to avoid puncturing something vital. Otherwise he reckoned he'd be spitting up more than curses right now. 

Still. It hurt, and it hurt a lot, and now he was in no condition to go hunting down the man who'd done this to him. Slade probably hadn't meant to kill him, only to incapacitate him so he could make a nifty escape as usual: and even knowing that, Jason was pissed enough to want to wring his miserable old neck. How did the old cyclops still have the vision for sharpshooting anyway? His depth perception should have been shit. Considering the fact that Slade was probably just good enough to shoot one-eyed only made Jason's blood pressure skyrocket, so he refused to consider it right now. He thought he had the right, considering he had at least three broken ribs. 

Sitting up against the wall, he huffed out a pained breath, teeth grinding hard together. His armor had protected his skin from the fall, at least, but he would still have a myriad of nasty bruises to go along. The journey home awaited, guaranteed to be painful – if he ever managed to get up, that was. Jason could feel the telltale swimming in his head that promised unconsciousness soon enough. The thought made him panic a little. He'd been in this situation before: broken ribs, bruised all over, helpless to do much about it even after the blows had ended. But this was different; there was no Joker waiting to blow him up, no locked door to pound futilely on before he resigned himself to his fate. Slade wouldn't come back to finish him off – he hadn't been the target, and that was all that old bastard cared about. The thought floated in his mind to call Dick: but Dick was all the way in Blüdhaven, and calling him would only worry him. Besides, by the time he got here, Jason would be conscious and able to make his sorry way back to the apartment Dick sometimes shared with him (with more and more frequency lately, whatever that meant) to lick his wounds. 

Thinking about Dick was pleasant, more pleasant than focusing on the brittle way Jason's ribs rattled with every breath. Even if those thoughts were confusing, he always found that they left a warm feeling to spread through his chest, down to his toes and fingertips, tingling in his lips – not that he would ever say something that goddamn sappy aloud. That was just embarrassing. He knew he liked the cheery bastard, had harbored that same interest in him since he was just a baby Robin in his little green shorts. To be fair, it was difficult for anyone in the throes of puberty to not have some sort of vested interest in just how well Nightwing's suit fit him, on how graceful he looked flipped and tumbling through the air, on just how nice that white smile glinted underneath Gotham's cloudy moonlight. But that part was easy: the physical, the lust that wasn't anything special. Anyone could lust over someone beautiful like Dick. You didn't need to know that he liked to coo at babies from across rooms to lust after him, nor did you need to know that he had a little collection of Superman-themed clothing, or that if he woke up before you in the morning he would carefully drape the blankets he'd stolen during the night over your pretending-to-be-sleeping form before he got up to begin his day. Jason knew all of that, and he was starting to think that those nights they would share in his apartment or Dick's apartment all the way in the 'Haven were beginning to mean a little more than just lust. 

But trying to unravel those complicated feelings made the haze in his head press down, pulling him further under. He wasn't good enough for someone good like Dick, he knew that. What business did he have imagining anything more than enjoying what Dick saw fit to gift him with? The nights were good: Jason didn't have all that much to compare it with, but he was smart enough to know good sex from bad sex, and this was great sex. He wasn't fool enough to risk saying something sappy to Dick only to get that kind, but pitying, smile he gave to someone he was trying to let down gently. He was too proud to embarrass himself like that – and if he was honest, he was too stubborn to let Dick Grayson have that much power over him. Even if they were sleeping together, Dick was still one of them, one of Bruce's soldiers, and Jason was on the other side of those battle lines drawn in the streets of the city they tentatively coexisted in. Perhaps that was the real reason why he didn't call as he lay losing consciousness on the pavement, panting painful breaths as he passed out. He knew it was foolish to get mixed up with someone who would only break his heart, who was so fundamentally different. Dick didn't really want that either. 

Jason awoke with something considerably softer than the bricks of the apartment building he'd been leaning against to his back. Upon a moment of consideration, he realized it was his bed, and the soft grey comforter he'd paid way too much money for was resting against his bare, bandaged chest. The sheets were tangled in his legs, also bare save for his underwear. And, with a sense of surprise that it hadn't been the first thing he'd noticed, a hand was carding through his hair. The hand was gentle, stroking through dark curls with no particular rush, and it was especially gentle when it would brush up against the shock of white staining Jason's bangs. 

Foggy as he was, Jason knew whose hand that was. No one else was quite so gentle with him, no one else dared to handle him like anything other than a large dog with a penchant for biting. Honestly, he couldn't blame them. He'd bitten Bruce's extended hand too many times to count, and he doubted Tim had forgotten the scars he'd left in his skin. He'd left them in Dick, too. But Dick didn't care, would sit with him on the bed and stroke gently through his hair as he tried to come back to the surface, had wrapped his injuries and taken care of him when he'd been lying in a dirty alley. How, exactly, had he found him? He was supposed to be in Blüdhaven, Jason managed to remember, and the curiosity was enough to spur him forward. 

"What're you doing here?" His voice was a quiet slur, but he knew Dick understood by the way he tilted his head when he heard the question. Jason forced himself to open his eyes wider to look up at him, to watch how that shade of blue he loved so much blinked in welcome at him. 

"I came to visit you early. It's a good thing I did, isn't it?" Sometimes Jason hated that cockiness in Dick's voice, that self-assuredness that always promised to come to the rescue. But he couldn't hate it now, not when it really had come to his rescue. But Dick wasn't done just yet. "I was going to let you chase me across the rooftops," he was continuing, eyes glimmering with good-natured amusement. "But Slade was generous enough to let me know that you were downed somewhere when I saw him. Not that he did it out of the goodness of his heart. I'm sure he only did it because he knew I would go after you instead of him. Maybe he had a hot date he wanted to get to or something." 

Dick laughed, and it was a soft, sweet sound that filled Jason's bedroom better than it had any right to. Dick was looking at him now like he expected Jason to say something else: not thank you, certainly. He probably expected more questions, or maybe an insult towards Slade's dating prospects, or even a grumpy monologue about how he didn't need help. All three had occurred to Jason before he realized Dick would be expecting them. And he hated to be predictable. 

"Thank you," he said instead, voice as soft as Dick's laughter had been. "It would have been a pain in the ass to haul myself back here. So thanks for saving me the trouble." He almost had to tack on the last part, a tiny defiant remark that he was strong, that he really didn't need anyone else. He was a survivor and he always would be. 

But the way Dick's face softened was enough. He didn't need a rambling declaration of eternal gratitude, and Jason knew that. 

"You're welcome," he said back, reaching down to cup Jason's cheek with one calloused hand. "I gave you some painkillers, so maybe you're only being this nice because you're drugged up. But I'm glad you're okay, Jay. You had me worried for a second there, you know that?" Leaning down, he pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. "Laid out like that, I thought for sure you punctured something important. I think you almost broke that lady's balcony." 

Jason snorted a little at that, watching Dick do the same. Painkillers explained the heaviness in his limbs, the slow reaction. But he was clear-headed enough, even if he was felt like he was wading in water when he tried to move. 

"I'm did not. You're just being a dick, Dickface. Her balcony is fine." 

That made Dick laugh again, and just the sound made Jason smile a little. He liked that laugh a lot, especially when it was just for him. 

"Her balcony was in dire straits, I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe it's time to think about cutting back on the carbs, Jay." 

"No way. Then how would I find the energy to pound you into the mattress after spending hours chasing around petty criminals?" 

That earned him another snort, this time of derision. 

"You're not going to be doing any pounding, not for a long time. You cracked your ribs pretty good, you know." And then Dick's face took on a somber note, drawing those lines around his face that made him look so much older than he really was. Jason hated it when he looked like that. "I really was worried, Jason. Why didn't you call me? Or someone, anyone. I know Bruce keeps the coms open for you, and I know you know that." 

The smile melted from Jason's face then, and he looked away. 

"You know why I didn't call Bruce. And this isn't exaclty the kind of thing you call a fuck buddy for." 

The hurt flashed on Dick's face, so fast that Jason didn't believe it at first. Why did he look so hurt? He had no right to look so hurt when Jason was only being honest, honest about what they were and what this was. Dick hadn't ever indicated that he wanted anything more. 

"What? Don't look at me like that," Jason said defensively, feeling a little spike of pain in his ribs as he shifted to cross his arms over his chest. "What, you don't like it when I talk about what this is? Not used to just sleeping around, are you?" 

Dick's reputation as a slut was unwarranted, Jason knew that much. The guy was the furthest thing from promiscuous in that sense – he didn't usually share his bed with someone he wasn't in a relationship with that was far too serious for how long it had been going for. Jason figured he was the exception, a little taste of rebellion again for the boy who had once committed the ultimate rebellion and fled from underneath Batman's protective cape. Dick had reconciled with Bruce, but Jason supposed there would always be that urge to defy him. Bruce had that effect on people. And if he was that way of acting out, that way of defying him just a little even after making peace? He couldn't complain, not if it meant a naked Dick Grayson in his bed most nights. 

"You think that's all we have?" Dick asked after a moment, and Jason's world crumbled a little around his feet. 

The hurt in that voice contradicted every conclusion he'd come to privately, without ever bothering to consult someone else – not even the only other person involved in their little twosome. Jason hated to be wrong, even when it sent hopeful sparks running through his aching chest. 

"Yeah, what else is there to think about? You never said anything else about it," he managed to say back, hurt in his own voice now. "What am I supposed to think?" 

"We spend almost every day together. I can't remember more than two nights alone for the past two months. I thought you would think more of that than just being 'fuck buddies,'" Dick said after a moment, composing himself, frowning slightly. "You know I like you a lot, Jason. I wouldn't seek you out if I didn't. I wouldn't drive down here just to spend a few hours with you before I have to go back when I'm exhausted just for a fuck because, no offense, no fuck is worth that when I'm that tired. Even if it's a good fuck." His hand gently crawled down, ghosting over Jason's injured ribs. "Is that all you want this to be?" 

No, Jason thought immediately, and it must have showed on his face. But he stayed silent, looking down at the hand, wanting to touch it and twine it in one of his own. His chest ached, his head hurt, and his body was too weary for this. But hadn't he been so relieved to wake up to that gentle hand in his hair, so happy to find Dick looking down at him like he'd come home? He knew Dick wouldn't hold it against him if he didn't want to talk about it right now. He was slightly drugged, after all, and injured and in pain. But he didn't want to let it go so easily, to let it vanish and never be talked about again until Dick got tired of doing this dance with him and moved on to something better. 

"No. That's not all I want it to be, Dickie," he said after a moment, finally looking back up. "It's not. I promise it's not. I just, I just thought-," but he cut himself off, closing his mouth and taking the hand resting on his chest. "It doesn't matter. But I want this. And I definitely want to always wake up from some painful injury to find you playing nursemaid to me." 

That finally earned him a smile, and Dick squeezed his hand. He looked younger when he smiled, so much younger, and it did things to Jason's heart to see him when he was happy like this. 

"Don't get used to it," Dick said, but Jason knew he was kidding. "It's not easy hauling your ass around. Probably because you eat too many carbs." 

Jason moved to playfully swat the grin off of Dick's face, but he easily caught the hand before it hit, shaking his head at the pained yelp Jason made when his body realized just how jerking it around right now felt. 

But Dick was there to kiss it better, bending his back to press his lips softly against the swollen, bruised skin on Jason's torso. Jason let him, enjoying the soft touch: and he realized he might just have to let Dick take care of him a little more often.


End file.
